The book could not be opened. Reality may be corrupt.

I went to the library to look for a book. I wasn’t looking for any book in particular, but one that explained how to do something that I wanted to do.

I entered the library’s main hall, and I headed to the shelf that stored books on the subject relating to my purposes. I found a first book whose title seemed to suit me. I took it, leafed through it and put it back; it wasn’t the book I was looking for.

I took a second one but put that back too, as it didn’t contain anything useful.

I took a third, tried to open it and … I couldn’t. I flipped it a few times in my hands to look for a seal or a hook that kept it closed and allowed me to open it; I found none.

I looked at it; in all respects, it looked like an ordinary book with a hardcover and paper pages. The only difference from other regular books was that this one apparently could not be opened.

I tried with two hands, pulling one side on one side and the other on the other to force it open, but it didn’t give in the slightest. I tried to put it on the ground and, while holding it firmly with my feet, I tried to force it from the other side with both hands; nothing, it didn’t open.

I tried it out with the tip of the keys, trying to slip them between the pages; still nothing.

Then, I gathered all my strength and threw it violently into the middle of the lane I was in; a great flight, a great thud, but the book was closed.

I went to retrieve it at the end of the aisle, picked it up, and, just to reassure myself, I looked first at the back and then at the front. Now I was sure; this was the book I was looking for!

What the Fog hides

This morning, I found myself immersed in a thick fog when I left the house. I looked around and could barely make out the familiar silhouettes of the surrounding buildings.

I set off, and as I walked, I looked with fascination at those less and less definite silhouettes of the buildings in my neighbourhood as the fog became denser and denser.

As I walked, I realised that even those shapes that I could still barely distinguish were beginning to fade behind the veil of that fog that now seemed impenetrable to sight. Only the vague outlines of a few buildings and trees remained, barely visible here and there. I wasn’t entirely sure of those either and couldn’t figure out if I saw those lines or imagined them.

I stopped in my track and, looking around, I realised that it was as if the fog had hidden the whole world like it had never existed or it had all been just an illusion. No one, in my opinion, could have claimed that the world was still in its place amid that fog.

Or perhaps the fog had transposed me to another dimension, and those few lines that I still thought I could see could have been alien constructions from another world or palaces of future or ancient civilisations.

Those places so familiar before the rising of the fog seemed to have transformed into something unknown and, at the same time, into new places I could explore. Nothing seemed to be left of everything I knew.

I wondered if I would still find everything in its place once the fog cleared. Not only the houses and buildings but also my friends, my family, all the places I frequented. And again the whole city and all the countries of the world with their populations.

Did the sun still exist? I couldn’t see it. And the universe with its stars and galaxies? Were the whole world and all of life an imperceptible illusion like those lines that I can hardly still distinguish? Is the rising of the fog enough to wipe out the whole world and its knowledge from human perception?

Immersed in these thoughts, I resumed walking, in any direction or perhaps none; there was no way to tell in that increasingly thick fog.

I forgot what I came in here for

I enter the room, sit at my desk and start thinking. Then I realise that I have nothing to think about and don’t even remember why I entered the room, which perhaps isn’t even mine.

I look around as if I’m searching for something, and I don’t even see the desk anymore; there are only the walls, the ceiling and the floor. No doors or windows. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember where I was before I entered this room or how I got into it. Or maybe I imagined I entered it while I was already here?

I think for a moment, but I have nothing to think about. I observe the wall in front of me, and after a few moments, I notice a slight pulsation. I approach to check better, and I see that the wall is pulsing very slowly. The motion is rhythmic and regular. I try to touch it, and it feels solid to the touch. Nonetheless, the wall continues to move rhythmically, with a kind of a beat.

I observe this strange phenomenon fascinated for a few minutes when I realise that the wall is also approaching in addition to pulsing. Indeed, the wall seems much closer to me, who remained motionless in my place, than when I noticed those strange pulsations for the first time. I step back slightly to get away and look around; the whole room seems to have shrunk. I check the other walls one by one and notice that all four are pulsing slightly as they move towards the centre of the room.

All four sides of the room are slowly closing around me, and the space in which I can move is getting smaller and smaller. I turn around on myself as if to look for an unlikely way out, but there is no more room to move around.

I feel all sides of the room surround me, from head to toe. I feel no pressure or pain as I feel my body merge with the room’s walls. Shortly after, there is no room or walls, no pulsation or heartbeat. I slowly abandon myself to a calm warmth of which I cannot identify the origin, and suddenly I remember why I had entered the room.

Photo of an Eternal Sunrise

It was early in the morning, just before sunrise. I was sitting on a bench in a suburban city park. I loved getting up late at night and being outdoors early in the morning. Maybe iI was attracted by the rising sunlight that slowly and obliquely warmed the cold night air or by the silence attenuated only by the chirping of the early morning birds. Perhaps it was the feeling of being in the sleepy state of a day that is coming out of its night when everything still seems quiet, just a few moments before it disappears in the frenzy of the daily duties that put our soul to sleep.

Those few moments between the twilight of dawn and the first rays of the sun seem eternal. And yet, when the sun rises in the sky to shine on our lives, those moments seem to have never existed, like those dreams that vanish upon waking, leaving us with the vague impression of having forgotten something. And for some people, these moments have never existed or will never exist. For others, it may be just memories or wishes. For others, however, dawn could be the darkest time of the night.

Absorbed in these thoughts, I realised that I could no longer see the landscape before me, but I could perceive it instead, down to the single blade of grass. I then took my instant camera out of my pocket and took a photo of the park just as the first rays of sun began to pierce through the trees on the horizon. The sky was still tinged with pastel shades, while the green of the trees and lawns came out of the grey and grew brighter and brighter.

I waited for the instant photo to develop and placed it on the bench where I was sitting. I stood up first with one leg, then with the other, I entered the photograph and slowly immersed my whole body in it. I was now in that eternal and infinite moment, forever on one side and never on the other.

Judgement Day

Today is Judgment day and I don’t even have a clean pair of underpants.

When I woke up this morning, I opened the shutter and saw fireballs raining from the skies. Destruction and despair were spreading everywhere, fast.

Fires, floods, chasms opened up, swallowing cars, people and whole buildings. Lightning strikes from the sky were hitting random passers-by with surgical precision.

I knew it. I had a strange feeling last night; I felt that something was about to happen. I had one of those presentiments that cannot be explained.

It was one of those evenings when one goes to sleep peacefully and then in half-sleep suddenly a bad, gripping feeling of certain doom comes over you but you can’t quite pin it what is causing it exactly.

You think about it, over and over, you worry until you give up, and you think that if it doesn’t spring to mind, then it probably is not that important.

Of course… it was the underpants! I opened the drawer .. and there were none. None, not even an old crumpled pair. Socks yes, all beautifully rolled up, but underpants, not even one by mistake.

I knew I had to do my laundry last night before going to sleep. Maybe it wouldn’t have dried out completely by the morning, but at least I’d have a clean pair of underpants to wear for the end of the world.